


Who understands me when I say this is beautiful

by keysmash



Series: Supernatural s5 Codas [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Community: spn_30snapshots, Episode Related, Episode: s05e10 Abandon All Hope..., Food, Loss, Multi, Women in Refrigerators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:03:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they give me pain, so I live with pain,<br/>they give me hate, so I live with my hate,<br/>they have changed me, and I am not the same man</p><p>from Jimmy Santiago Baca's "<a href="http://community.livejournal.com/deux_mille_mots/14237.html">Who Understands Me But Me</a>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who understands me when I say this is beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Abandon All Hope coda. Written for prompt 10 of my [](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_30snapshots/profile)[**spn_30snapshots**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_30snapshots/) [table](http://latentfunction.livejournal.com/349450.html). Title from Jimmy Santiago Baca.

They'd left stuff at Bobby's house. Purple shower sandals were still in the bathroom, there was a tube of lip balm underneath some maps, and the remnants of the drinking game still stood stacked in the sink. Sam stared at the empty glasses for a long time when he followed Dean into the kitchen, but instead of continuing to the fridge, Sam slid the neck of the whiskey bottle beteen two fingers and disappeared upstairs.

Dean gave him time. He made six sandwiches, loaded down with whatever he could find, and thick with mayo and mustard. He and Bobby each put away two in the living room, neither of them talking or, really, looking at each other. Dean sat there for a long while before wrapping up Sam's food and going after him.

The stairs creaked as Dean climbed, a warning system disguised as sloppy maintenance, but everything else stayed silent. The hallway was as dim as usual, with the doors shut and the window at the end of the corridor boarded over. Dean listened when he reached the top of the stairs. He didn't hear Sam anywhere, no groans of old furniture, but when he pushed open the door to the room they'd shared as kids, Sam lay stretched across the bed.

He didn't meet Dean's eyes. Dean stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand on either side of the doorjamb, before letting himself in and closing the door behind him. Sam had the bottle butted up next to him, against his hip, and an empty glass rested on the other pillow, where Dean had laid his head the night before. He picked it up when he crossed to the bed and settled in next to Sam, leaning against the headboard and smushing the pillow up behind his lower back.

There was a red lip print on the rim of the glass.

Dean stared at it before rubbing his thumb just below the makeup, careful not to smudge it. When he dropped the sandwiches between them and held out his free hand, Sam passed over the bottle without speaking. Dean took three huge swallows before giving it back. The alcohol burned on the way down, hitting his gut with a hot sizzle, and Dean wrapped both hands around the glass as he tipped his head against the wall.

One of the two of them left a sock on the floor the other night, he saw. It lay, grey-white and crumpled, against the wall, beside the door. Dean wriggled his toes but both socks felt the same, each as crusty with dirt and sweat as the other. He wondered if it was Sam's sock, if Sam had been the one running around mismatched.

"I brought you sandwiches," Dean said. Sam snorted and took another swig, so Dean kicked him in the foot. Dust puffed up from their boots at the contact and then fell to the rotting quilt spread over the mattress. "C'mon, you need food to go with that. You can't be hung over tomorrow, we've gotta get back to work."

Sam sighed and unwrapped the sandwiches. Dean took the whiskey from him after a moment, knocked back one more mouthful, and set it on the floor next to the bed. He couldn't find the lid anywhere and so he placed the glass upside down over the mouth of the bottle, covering it. Keeping everything safely inside. He blinked at the set-up a few times before toeing out of his boots and lining them up as well.

He didn't know exactly what he'd've done if she'd taken him up on his offer — or, actually, he knew perfectly well what would've happened, in bed. If was _after_ that Dean never figured out.

Probably it had been easier, leaving her, because they hadn't.

Sam hadn't mentioned it, and so it had been Sam he'd taken to bed, just like the night before, and just like tonight. On one hand, Dean was sick of sex where both people thought they were probably dying the next day, but on another, he and Sam were different to begin with. It wasn't like he'd expected flowers or candles or anything for their first time, and Sam's hand down his boxer-briefs, both of them trying to be quiet while they learned each other, had more than gotten the job done.

Besides, here they were a full day after the last-day-on-Earth sex, back in the same bed and both still alive. Sam smelled like alcohol, over the dirt ground into his clothes and the sweat dried on his skin, like he'd spilled before Dean joined him, and, status quo, he needed a haircut. He was getting dried mud on one end of the bed and crumbs on the other. Dean crossed his arms over his chest to keep from reaching out for Sam before he finished eating.

He scooted down on the bed when Sam brushed the crumbs onto the floor, getting his head onto the pillow and his stocking feet against the footboard.

"Here," he said, and patted the bed next to him. He closed his eyes as Sam struggled out of his boots and then something else, maybe his jeans, before settling in. The mattress stopped shifting before Dean looked again, to find Sam curled close on his side but not touching Dean. His eyes were lidded, lazy and already going bloodshot, and the lines in his face were all out in force tonight. He sucked in air like he had something to say, but then moved his mouth without ever forming the words.

"I know," Dean said, after watching for a few moments. Sam's face relaxed a little, a very little, and Dean leaned in to kiss him. He pressed his hand into Sam's stubble, tickling his fingers and grounding himself, and slid their legs together. It was Dean's hand in Sam's underwear tonight, first, and as long as he watched his brother's face he didn't have to think about anything else.


End file.
